


pictures of patron saints up on my wall

by cosmicpoet



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Despair (Dangan Ronpa), First Meetings, Ghosts, M/M, Soulmates, but like ghost soulmates, seance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-07 04:15:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16401137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicpoet/pseuds/cosmicpoet
Summary: Korekiyo is only interested in people once they're dead; seances, ouija boards, the afterlife. It's the only time he feels normal.





	pictures of patron saints up on my wall

Korekiyo sighs in front of the bathroom mirror, the steam from the shower clouding his reflection. It’s like there’s another version of himself trapped within there, aching for the condensation to be blown away by some far-off wind. He drags his hand across the mirror, showing himself to himself; his long hair, tired eyes, he knows that there’s only _some_ comfort to be found in brandishing himself a pariah. 

Because he’s not been wrong about himself before. He’s never really had friends, or family - the only child who became an orphan who became an outcast. There’s something special, though, in his interests, the paranormal, anthropology, still trying to find the beauty in humanity after everything. And he’s a firm believer in reality; if there is beauty in humanity, he won’t find it in himself. No, that’s been drilled into him from childhood, right up until the horizon of his mid-twenties, that he’s not pure enough to be beautiful, he’s too weird, too mentally ill, too much of everything bad and not enough of anything good.

So he makes do, covers as much of his skin as he can, tries to help the world by refusing to let it view him. And then he tries to creep his way into the spirit world a little early, hoping to reserve himself a spot for when he inevitably dies young. 

At first, when he’d started researching the paranormal, he had doubts about the use of ouija boards - of course, the commercial nature of them made him disbelieve any evidence, but years have passed since then, and he’ll take whatever communication he can get. He’s just a loser who tries to befriend spirits.

Location is important, too. He wants to be alone during rituals, somewhere quiet. Of course, it’s important for communication that he’s not disturbed, but more than that, there’s still the ever-present fear in the back of his mind that people will laugh at him, make fun of him, hurt him. It’s easy to say that he’s not bothered by this, but as much as he wishes he could elevate himself above humanity, he’s still affected by it.

But today should be different. It’s the early hours of the morning, giving him enough time to get to the abandoned house he’s planning to hold a seance at without having to interact with the general public. Finding himself sitting on old wooden floorboards, dust settling on him like furniture, at a little past four in the morning, he’s all ready to go. 

The ouija board is in front of him, the planchette lightly touching his pale fingers. 

“Is there anyone here?” Korekiyo asks the air around him. “I understand if you don’t want to talk. I won’t push you. I’m just…curious. I’d like to speak.”

_H-E-Y-D-U-D-E_

“Hey…dude? Is that you?”

_Y-E-A-H-B-R-O-H-E-Y_

“My name is Korekiyo Shinguji. May I ask yours?”

_S-U-R-E-D-U-D-E-I-M-R-A-N-T-A-R-O_

“Rantaro? You’re very…unlike the spirits I’ve met before.”

_S-I-C-K_

“You’re sick? Is…is that related to your death? I’m sorry if that’s a rude question.”

_N-O-D-U-D-E-I-M-E-A-N-S-I-C-K-A-S-I-N-C-O-O-L_

“Sick, as in, cool? Rantaro, what year is it for you?”

_2-0-1-8_

“I mean…what year did you die?”

_1-9-9-8_

“So you’ve been dead…twenty years? That’s…I mean…you don’t usually picture spirits having died so recently. How did you die?”

_R-U-D-E_

“My apologies. I’m just very curious…this is the strongest connection I’ve made with a spirit before.”

_I-W-A-S-J-K_

“You were…joking?”

_Y-E-A-H_

“So…how _did_ you die?”

_M-U-R-D-E-R_

“Murder…? In this house?”

_Y-E-A-H_

“Can you give me a sign?”

_M-I-R-R-O-R_

“Mirror? How do you mean, mirror?”

_C-L-O-S-E-U-R-E-Y-E-S-T-O-U-C-H-M-I-R-R-O-R_

“Close my eyes and touch the mirror? Alright,” Korekiyo says, getting up from the floor. Apprehensively, he reaches out his fingertip and places it against the mirror, closing his eyes and waiting for Rantaro to do whatever he needs. He feels the subtle change of the cold, hard surface into something softer, almost as if his fingertip is touching somebody else’s. The cool air surrounds him more than ever, now.

“Open your eyes,” a quiet voice says from in front of him, and Korekiyo follows the order.

His reflection in the mirror is no longer there; instead, there’s a man around his age, smiling back at him like this isn’t the most bizarre meeting they could possibly have. His hair is pastel green - presumably dyed back in the 90s - and he’s wearing a ridiculously stereotypical outfit; a short polo shirt tucked into high jeans, with an oversized flannel shirt draped around his shoulders. Contrasting all of this, there’s a trail of dried blood matting his hair down, trickling slowly past his ear and onto his cheek.

“You’re Rantaro?” Korekiyo asks.

“That’s me,” Rantaro replies, still touching Korekiyo’s hand through the mirror, “it’s totally weird to be doing this. If you wanna, like, pull me through into this _mortal plane_ or whatever you wanna call it, just, like, do that.”

“How?”

“I mean, I can only manifest here as long as we’re touching, so just, hold my hand I guess?”

Korekiyo reaches into the mirror a little, a strange sensation, and holds onto Rantaro’s hand - it feels the same temperature as the mirror, but soft, well manicured, and before he can truly understand what he’s doing, Rantaro is standing in front of him, still holding his hand.

“Thanks dude,” Rantaro says, “it’s well fresh to be out here feelin’ like I’m alive again.”

“Yeah…about that. Why were you murdered?”

“Oh…that. Yeah, I don’t really know why me, man. Bad luck, I guess.”

“Do you know who did it?”

“Yeah. This chick called…Tsumugi, I think? I reckon she was set up by someone else to come rob my house, and I just got in the way so she hit me on the head.”

“You’re okay with talking about this?”

“I ain’t bothered about it any more. Just try to look on the positive side of, well, bein’ dead. It’s pretty fly to be twenty-five forever.”

“Does it not get boring?”

“Oh, hella. That’s why I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me? Of all people?”

“You’re the first guy I’ve really talked to since I died. I mean, there were a few stupid seances in this place a year after I died, but I could never be arsed to respond to any of ‘em. Regretted that one a few years later, ‘cause I’d rather talk to boring people than not talk at all. But you…I don’t think you’re a boring guy.”

“Why not?”

“What normal guy comes to do a seance in a place where the only cool thing to happen was twenty years ago?”

“Wait…did you just call your own murder ‘cool’?”

“Guess I did, huh.”

“Rantaro…you’re the first person who’s talked to me like I matter in, well, forever. I don’t like the idea that I’m not going to be able to see you all the time.”

“What’s your bright idea then, sit here holding my hand forever? What about like, when you need to piss?”

“No, you’re right. And I guess I could come and visit you. But it’s not really enough for me. I wish…I wish I could die right here and now, and then you wouldn’t be lonely forever.”

“Woah, dude, hang back a sec. You’re talking about this for real?”

“Yes. It wouldn’t take much for me to just give up on this world altogether, and if I died here, then neither of our spirits would be lonely for eternity.”

“No way! Imagine how guilty I’d feel if you did that. Nah, dude, just come back and visit me whenever you feel lonely. I’ll be right here. It’s not like I can move from the place I died, anyway.”

“But -”

“Nah, Korekiyo, listen. You’re blessed to be alive. You can leave here and go _wherever you want._ Before I died, I really wanted to, like, travel places. Go see the world. And you have the opportunity to do that, so don’t you dare throw it all away!”

“I don’t want to travel.”

“I don’t care. You gotta find _something_ to live for. Go out there and experience the world - fuck it if people think you’re weird. Get a shit ton of souvenirs, and bring em back to me so you can tell me stories about all the cool places you visited, got it? And then if you’re still hellbent on dying, do it after all that shit, so we can at least spend the afterlife talking about your adventures.”

“Are you…are you sure?”

“Go on, Korekiyo. Go life your life like you’re doing it for both of us.”

With that, Rantaro makes eye contact with Korekiyo, and smiles. Leaning in, he gives him a soft, gentle kiss, so light that it almost feels like nothing.

And then he’s gone.

Korekiyo has to leave. He’s got work to do.

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY BEAUTIFUL WONDERFUL GF HAVE SOME AMAGUJI MWAH LUV U
> 
> Title from 'Saint Bernard' by Lincoln.


End file.
